


A song about tortillas

by RedChucks



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: C word, Gen, Jones and Claire hanging out, Jones' music, M/M, Mention of sex, Swearing, fic prompt, mention of drugs, mention of sex whilst on drugs, which may offend some folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks
Summary: A fic written with the first line prompt of: "I wrote a song about Tortillas" which just seemed like a very Jones thing to say.Written from Claire's point of view as she tries to figure out Jones, how he fits in to her world, and how she fits in to his.
Relationships: Claire Ashcroft & Jones, Dan Ashcroft/Jones
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	A song about tortillas

“Claire! Claire! Claire! Claire! Claire! Claire! Claire! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! I’ve just written a song about tortillas! You’ve got to listen! It’s well tasty!”

From beneath her mound of blankets on the couch, Claire opened a single, sleep sticky, eye and glared for all she was worth. She needed to find a new place to crash, she really did, because living with Jones was a unique kind of nightmare, but so far he’d been the only person who didn’t demand direct access to her tits or cunt. He just... wasn’t interested in her sexually, and Claire hadn’t decided yet whether she was offended by that, or whether Jones really just wasn’t that in to women. Sure, she’d seen him kiss at least a dozen girls, but only when he was as high as a kite, and he’d kissed just as many guys under the same circumstances. Hell, she was one hundred per cent certain that Dan was fucking the over-enthusiastic DJ on the regular. But only when they were both high. When he wasn’t on Ecstasy though, Jones just didn’t seem interested in sex or nudity, or what would be considered normal human relationships. He was odd. He was a puzzle. He was a slightly wonky, discoloured, Rubik’s Cube, and Claire wanted to figure him out. 

He’d walked in on her in the shower once, and she’d been ready to squirt shampoo in his eyes, screaming at him to get out and stop being a fucking perv, but he’d shown absolutely zero interest in her wet and naked form. Jones had been searching for a missing screw driver, which he eventually found, inexplicably, alongside the toothbrushes. He’d chattered away to her as she attempted to cover herself with what passed for a shower curtain in the House of Jones (It was bead curtain. A damned bead curtain. And Claire hated herself for not replacing it with something more sensible before then.) like it was nothing out of the ordinary to run his mouth off while his housemate stood wet and naked only a foot away. Maybe for Jones it was normal. Maybe he did that sort of thing with Dan too, though really that thought seemed impossible. She couldn’t imagine Dan being comfortable naked in the presence of another human being, even one he was fucking. Then again, Dan didn’t have the look of a man who regularly showered either so maybe it had never been an issue.

From memory Jones had made only a single comment about her body, just one, which was something along the lines of, “nice ink” with a nod to the tattoo on her thigh. Then he’d waltzed back out, chewing happily on his lip and humming along to whatever song was playing in his head. He was always humming or tapping or creating some sort of noise and as Claire looked up blearily at her insufferable housemate, he was doing just the same thing - grinning like an idiot and moving to a beat that only he could hear. Claire wanted to beat him around the head. 

“Why d’you have to share it with Me, Jones?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Why can’t you make Dan listen to it?” 

A headache was already building behind her eyes and she wasn’t ready for it. It was too soon for a hangover; she’d only stumbled home two hours ago but she didn’t feel drunk any more, just tired and irritable and sore. Jones had bags under his eyes like he was packing for a ‘round the world trip, but he looked the same as always: excited and wired and ready to party at a moment’s notice. Looking at him bounce around the room in front of her made Claire want to hurl. It made her want to sleep for a week. It made her want to scream at him to just be normal for a change! 

“Dan’s asleep,” Jones told her simply, the look on his face so innocent that Claire nearly relented. “He yelled at me and kicked me out of the bedroom ‘cos I was making too much noise. But I was just excited about finishing the track, yeah? It’s well good. But he wouldn’t listen to it. Please? Please? Please, Claire? Please?”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. She’d never been able to figure out whether Jones’ wide eyed puppy look was for real or not. It was convincing, sure, but Claire didn’t believe that anyone could be quite that innocent of the world whilst simultaneously being high on E and carrying lube and condoms at all times. Unfortunately he did look just too sweet and hopeful - he was wearing Mickey Mouse pajamas for Christ’s sake! - and Claire had always been a soft touch.

“Fine,” she huffed, scooting up the couch a little as Jones bounced almost violently in front of her, holding out a set of headphones like he was offering a precious gift. “Let’s get this over with?”

Jones brought the headphones down over her ears with far too much excitement and Claire’s head began to throb worse. She just had to hope that whatever Jones had produced was short. Some of his mixes went on for hours, including one titled “Junk Food Binge Night!” If she came home to that mix playing it was a clue that Claire was about to hit the jackpot and would be inundated with snacks and sweets all night. Those were good nights, nights when she and Jones actually got along okay because sugar made them both giggly and giddy and gossipy. Claire actually had fun on those nights, unless of course, Dan came home with pot or pills. When that happened Claire preferred to scoop up as many foodstuffs as she could carry and hole up in the bedroom whilst Dan fucked their housemate in to the floor, the wall, the couch, the kitchen table. Nothing got Jones higher than sugar, after all, and when Jones got high, Jones liked to fuck. 

Occasionally it made Claire feel jealous. Most of the time she dealt those feelings just fine, of course. She was an adult. When the sound of her brother and housemate fucking made her wish she had someone in her life who she actually wanted to have sex with she did the sensible thing. She got drunk on red wine and indulged in some decent smutty fanfic. That combination sorted out the physical side of things but not the odd feeling in her stomach, the one that couldn’t decide how she felt about Jones simply not being interested in her. Sometimes she wondered that she didn’t have much going for her. She worried that she wasn’t likable. The only guys who were interested in her were infected dick ridges like Nathan Barley and mold spores like Pingu. She was so done with it and didn’t understand why Dan got to have enthusiastic, strings-free sex with their housemate while Claire only got previews of horrible club music and weird late night conversations that her brain wasn’t nearly fried enough for. What did Jones think of her? What did he Want from her?

Not that she was about to ask Jones any of that, or tell him how annoying it was that she couldn’t figure him out. There was no point. In her first six months living in The House of Jones she had tried yelling at him, telling him to go away or shut up, and flat out ignoring him. None of it worked. Jones just smiled at her. He thought she was funny. He thought she was just like Dan, which apparently meant that her anger and hostility were just an act to keep the ‘Idiots’ away and to protect her soft center. Claire really didn’t know how she felt about that.

But coherent thought very soon slid down her list of abilities once Jones’ latest piece of ‘music’ burst through the headphone speakers and began abusing her ears. Claire blinked. How the hell did a piece of music actually manage to sound like tortillas? She couldn’t even describe it, it just... sounded like tortillas. It was loud and the beat was designed for the sort of dancing that was basically just clothed, dance-floor sex, and it had all of Jones’ weird incidental background noises. It was actually pretty good. Well, it was ear splitting and a little terrifying and made her scalp itch, but something about it just worked. Not that she’d tell Jones that. Giving Jones compliments was like giving him drugs or sweets or - the worst of them all - caffeine. Jones couldn’t be trusted with compliments.

Claire blinked again, slowly, her eyes heavy with alcohol and sleep. Her brain felt like warm goo. Her eyes were sticky. When she managed to open them again Jones was gone and the room was back to it’s usual semi-dark, slightly hazy state. The music pounded in her head, making her want to move along to it, making her wish she could be wrapped up tight and warm - making her stomach grumble. Her eyes shut again and it was too much work to open them, even with Jones’ music pulsing in to her skull and dissolving her grey matter. Maybe she was like Dan after all. Maybe horrific noise was what she needed to sleep. Maybe, she just...

“Ow!” Claire’s eyes burst open as Jones landed basically on top of her, but the room was still out of focus and her ears were still filled with the intense collision of sounds that was so much more than a, ‘song about tortillas.’ She pulled off the headphones and kicked out her foot, aiming at his shin but missing and nearly slipping from the couch as her foot hit nothing but air. She poked her tongue out at him instead. “You nearly squashed me, you dick!” she groused. “And your stupid song made me hungry!”

Jones just laughed at her instead and thrust something warm in her hands. Something warm and delicious smelling. Claire looked down at it suspiciously.

“What the fuck is this?” she grumbled, then pulled at face at the way Jones grinned at her with his mouth full.

“Tortilla pocket,” he managed to get out between chews. “Genius, yeah?”

Claire took a hesitant bite, followed by a far less hesitant one, and then another, and another, trying to keep the embarrassing noises to herself. Damn Jones for making something so delicious! It was finished all too soon and even though the ache in her stomach had eased, the one in her chest hadn’t. The deep pressure of Jones’ face as he flopped down on top of her and tugged her blankets over the both of them helped somewhat, and Claire found herself wrapping her arms around his scrawny chest, despite the confusion still swirling and tangling inside her. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to know.

“Jones?” she asked, her voice beginning to slur as her eyes tried to close and sleep began to force its way back in. “Do you... like me? At all? I mean, as a... girl?”

“Wha?” Jones asked muzzily, sounding as close to sleep as Claire felt, and she watched as he opened one eye to squint up at her, lifting his head just enough to be clear of her tits. “Course I like you, Claire-a-belle! You’re the best! You’re Claire Ashcroft. You’re cool. I mean, like, you’re Dan’s sister. I always wanted a sister. And, ya know, with Dan fuckin’ me so regular I reckon we’re basically family now. I like havin’ you as a sister, Claire,” he yawned, settling back down and making himself comfortable on top of her chest again. You’re a good sort, yeah? You’re nice.”

Claire frowned, her tired brain trying to sort through Jones’ garbled, lisping words. Sister? Nice? She hadn’t been called nice to her face since, well- never. Dan would never even consider her nice and he had known her longer and better than anyone. But Jones thought she was nice, and thought of her as a sister and Claire felt the ache in her chest ease, like a big ball of knotted wool being untangled and then dissipating like smoke until she felt herself actually reach up and stroke Jones’ dry and oddly cut hair. It was... nice. She’d always wanted a little brother. And sure, he was a promiscuous, drug-addled, tone deaf, weirdo but considering her older brother was, well, Dan, Claire wasn’t about to complain. He was her little drug-addled weirdo. And he seemed to have a real knack for tortillas, which could definitely come in handy.


End file.
